


Nothing But Sheets In Between Us

by prosciutto



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosciutto/pseuds/prosciutto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s fine,” he says, tart, his mouth tugging upwards into a smirk of sorts. “Wouldn’t want you to add bribery to the list of morally ambiguous things you got up to this week, right?”</p><p>“Morally <i>ambiguous?</i>” She tastes the words out on her tongue, her mouth dropping open to gape when she finally gets what he’s insinuating at. “Hey! I didn’t know you’re my T.A. when I– when <i>it</i> happened!”</p><p>Or: In hindsight, sleeping with her T.A is probably a bad idea. Especially when it turns out that he's someone like Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. if only for one night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this as a separate fic so I don't have an excuse to procrastinate and _not_ update more frequently, so you guys should holler at me more here to make sure I continue/update/whatever it is writers do.

Her decision to skip out in the middle of the night (which, at the time, seemed like a worldly, mature choice) sounds considerably _stupid_ in the cold light of day. **  
**

“You mean to tell me,” Raven gapes, flicking at the hickey by her shoulder, “that you _left_ without even getting his number?”

Scowling, Clarke slumps back into her seat miserably, tugging at the scarf she wound around her neck hastily this morning. “Honestly, the whole concept of a one night stand seemed like a good idea at first.”

That gets a snort out of Raven, who has resumed attacking her eggs with fervor. “It’s not really considered a one night stand when you’ve been crushing on the guy for weeks.”

“ _One_ week.” She mutters, just to be difficult.

(Fine, to be honest, it was more like three weeks, but _still_. She could never work up the courage to talk to him before anyway, opting to check him out by the bar every other week and moping rather than doing something about it. In the end, it was the shots that Monty had plied her with that pushed her over the edge.

And yet, she somehow managed to screw that up too. Ugh.)

“Tell me tall, dark and handsome lived up to the hype, at least.” Raven demands, planting a hand on her hip.

Clarke flushes, tries valiantly to eviscerate last night’s memories of his low voice in her ear, the flash of teeth against her neck. “It’s Bellamy, actually. That’s his name.”

Raven arches a brow, somehow manages to look disapproving and blase all at once. “Well, that’s a start, right? You could google him or something.”

“I thought about it,” she mumbles, steepling her fingers against her temples. “But what makes you think he’ll even talk to me after I ran out on him?”

“Why did you?” Raven asks, curious. “Was it bad? Like, did he do that thing Finn used to do with his–”

“Yeah, no.” She interjects. Clarke is definitely _not_ in the mood to rehash the whole Finncident (termed by Raven, no less) with anyone at the moment, let alone the one person involved in the entire mess. “It was– it was fucking amazing, okay? And he seems smart and funny and witty but I thought I was trying to prove a point.”

“Right,” Raven says, her expression carefully blank. “What was the point again?”

“That I’m perfectly capable of having hookups without developing feelings for the person!” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. “It would have gone off without a hitch too, if he wasn’t so,” she pauses, gives an exaggerated twirl of her hand, “I don’t know. An all-around great person, I guess.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding sagely. “Is this the part where you start complaining about how your diamond shoes are too tight?”

Clarke groans, dropping her face down against her pillow. “I hate you.”

“Go to class, babe.” She sighs, with all the weariness of someone who has clearly seen _things._ “You shouldn’t miss it. Besides, you can whine about it some more later.”

And Raven is right, mostly, so Clarke drags herself up and out despite the urge to stay in bed and wallow in self-pity. Besides, it’s the first class of the semester, which means she can get away with zoning out while her professor prattles on about the syllabus.

It’s a relatively popular class, and she recognizes a few familiar faces when she plops herself down along the back row. Jasper waves at her from the front, and a sweet-faced girl whom Clarke is positive is called Harper gives her a small nod from two seats away. Not too bad for an elective, really.

Reluctantly, she drags her attention back to the dour-faced professor up front.

“This course, as you all know, will be conducted twice a week lecture-style with a tutorial session after. There will be a final group project to be presented at the end of the semester, so I will require you to start getting into groups early on. You can look for your T.A. if you have any further questions about this, which is Mr. Blake.” He gestures vaguely to the side of the room, and dutifully, she turns to look, and oh.

Her first coherent thought is, _wait, he wears glasses?_

The second being, _holy fuck, I slept with the T.A._

It’s impossible to mistake him from anyone else, she thinks dimly, trying to rein in her rising sense of horror. The dishevelled set of curls that she spent all night rucking her fingers through, the sharp line of his jaw and the stubble that had scraped along her skin. His freckles are stark under the fluorescent lights of the lecture theatre and she remembers tracing them last night, mumbling about constellations and stars all while he sank into her, making her keen with it.

His eyes land on her for a split second, jolting with awareness almost instantaneously, lips parting and brows raising to his hairline, and for a long, breathless moment, she thinks he might actually wave, acknowledge her in some way.

But then he’s turning away, jaw clenched, and she slinks down in her seat, mortified. 

“Hey,” Harper murmurs, casting a cursory glance over at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She goes, sneaking a peek over at him. He’s looking right back at her, expression inscrutable and dark and she flushes all over, has to bite at her lip to stifle at a groan. Three whole months of torture. She might actually die from the sexual frustration alone.

“Never better,” Clarke says instead, forcing a smile before finally averting her gaze.


	2. was doing just fine before I met you

All things considered, the fact that they’ve managed to avoid each other for two whole weeks (despite being in the same class) is _definitely_ a feat or sorts. It’s possible that Clarke is making it happen through sheer force of will or maybe Bellamy’s just more conscientious than most- but, well, yeah. Presently, Clarke’s feeling pretty optimistic about her chances of surviving this semester. **  
**

Well, until she quite _literally_ runs into him during her coffee run, that is.

It’s not so much of a collision, though they still manage to barge into one another with enough force to dislodge her books from her grip, the cup of coffee from his, and the realization that it’s _him_ doesn’t sink in until she’s handing him the half-empty cup, apologizing profusely and insisting that she buy him a fresh one.

“Oh.” She breathes, when it finally clicks.

And he must notice her at the same time that she did for him, because the concern in his eyes is almost immediately replaced by disdain. “It’s fine,” he says, tart, his mouth tugging upwards into a smirk of sorts. “Wouldn’t want you to add bribery to the list of morally ambiguous things you got up to this week, right?”

“Morally _ambiguous_?” She tastes the words out on her tongue, her mouth dropping open to gape when she finally gets what he’s insinuating at. “Hey! I didn’t know you’re my T.A. when I– when _it_ happened!”

He arches a brow at her, scoffs. “Right. Well, that makes it awfully coincidental, doesn’t it?”

Resisting the urge to swear at him, she grabs at his elbow instead, steering him into the small, tucked away alcove by the side. “Look, I’m serious, okay? I didn’t even know you _went_ here when I approached you.”

“I just– I know.” Bellamy deflates, slumping against the wall. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean any of it. I’m just mad that we’re in this situation in the first place.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, hating how the proximity isn’t helping things at all. “I really liked you too.”

That gets another eyebrow raise from him. “Well, where I’m from, if someone likes another person a fair amount and would like to keep seeing them again, they stay the night. Or, you know. Leave a note at least.”

“Right,” Clarke winces, casting a pleading look over at him. “This is going to sound stupid, probably, but would you believe me if I told you I only left because I was trying to prove a point?”

The twitch of his mouth gives him away, an almost smile. “Depends on the point.”

“Uh, that I was capable of doing the casual hookup thing?”

“Ah,” he goes, sounding distinctly amused. “So how did that work out for you?”

“Terrible.” She says, flat, biting back a pleased grin when he laughs. “Turns out, uh, the guy is pretty amazing, so the idea of a no-strings-attached sorta thing fell flat on its face.”

“Shame.” He muses, rocking on the balls of his feet. The compliment seems to have thrown him for a loop- considering how _shy_ he’s being about it now, averting his gaze and smiling a little to himself- and it’s stupid how endeared she is by him.

“Shame.” Clarke echoes, swallowing down the lump of disappointment in her throat. “Uhm. But that’s all there is, I guess.” Pasting on a smile, she adds, “I should go. But thanks for hearing me out.”

He nods, the look in his eyes immeasurably soft. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too.” She manages, going up on her toes. It was meant to be a peck on the cheek, a chaste one; a _sweet_ one, something along the lines of thanking him for being nice about the entire matter at hand, but somehow or another it’s his mouth that meets hers and she’s crumbling at the first graze of his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair automatically to hold him in place.

That prompts a low, dark swear from him, muttered along the edge of her jaw as he mouths at her neck. “ _Fuck_ , Clarke.”

“I know,” she gasps out, pulling back only so she could kiss him again. “This is just– bad? A really, really terrible idea. Maybe I should just drop the class.”

“I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do.” He murmurs, exhaling against the arc of her collarbone and making her shiver with it.

She huffs, winding her fingers against the nape of his neck instead. “Oh, you choose _now_ to be considerate?”

His smile is a gleam of teeth in the darkness, his hands a comforting weight on her waist. “I’m considerate all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She grumbles, surging up so she could nip at his ear how he liked the last time, his responding growl sending a thrill that she could feel all the way down to her toes. “Can we– can we figure it out later?”

“Okay.” He tells her, winding their fingers together before pushing her back against the wall so he could kiss her properly. “In a bit, then.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next few chapters are probably gonna be lengthier while I flesh out the rest of the story, so I hope you guys are okay with that? The usual kudos and comments are appreciated, etc etc. <3

Clarke’s cramped, two-by-four dorm room had been vetoed in favor of Bellamy’s apartment- which apparently had proper heating and a shower curtain that wasn’t made of industrial rubber- something he was _stupidly_ proud of. **  
**

“It’s probably something you would have noticed if you had stayed over the first time,” he points out, his laugh dropping off into a sharp yelp when she pinches at his elbow. “I’m serious! It’s a real crowd pleaser.”

She ducks into the apartment after him, snorting, her gaze catching on the sagging sofa by the corner of the room, the books strewn all over the kitchen counter; a dim flicker of recognition at the edge of her consciousness.

Frowning, she turns over to look at him. “Did we fuck on the couch?”

His answering smile is unbearably smug. “Amongst various other surfaces, if I’m recalling it right.”

“Ah,” she goes, conversational, feigning ignorance, “and what about the counter?”

He bites at the inside of his cheek at that, tapering a grin. “Wiped it down with windex.”

“Wall?”

“Where do you think the paintings went?” He sighs, purposefully dramatic, and she tastes his laughter against her lips when she tugs him down by his collar to kiss him, hard.

He kisses her back with equal fervour, his fingers dancing against the length of her spine and settling against the small of her back before he pulls away, exhaling gustily against her cheek. “You know, you really need to stop making out with me when I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

Blinking up at him, she schools her expression to one of total and utter innocence. “Talk about what now?”

“ _Clarke_.”

“Fine,” she huffs, taking a pointed step back from him. “I mean, hypothetically, I could see why there’s a need to talk about it.” He opens his mouth to argue at that, and she interjects before he can, “Doesn’t mean I _want_ to, though.”

“Well, we should.” Bellamy retorts, frustration leaking into his voice. “Considering I’m pretty sure it’s vaguely unethical for me to be sleeping with someone whose work I have to grade on a weekly basis.”

“Fortnightly, probably. Judging by the syllabus he gave us.”

The look he shoots her is withering, a little impatient, too and she finds herself relenting under it. “You’re right, okay? I know you’re right. We shouldn’t be doing this.” Then, taking a deep breath, she barrels on, “But this class wraps up in about three months and after that, well.” She trails off, her statement dangling in the air, an unanswered question, and it takes her a second to compose herself before she can continue. “Just… After, I guess.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, not right away, long enough for her to seriously consider making a run for it and or playing it off with a stupid joke when he finally goes, serious and a little soft, “After.”

The rush of relief she feels at that is a little unexpected, but Clarke mostly tries not to dwell on it. “I mean, what’s three months, right?”

His smile is wry, this time, a little resigned. “Ninety days isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.”

“129,600 minutes.” She counters, mostly just to be difficult, drawing closer despite herself. It was hard to keep away when the pull between them felt magnetic, inevitable somehow, planets aligning themselves in the same orbit.

That gets a chuckle out of him. “I hope you’re not expecting me to convert that into seconds.”

Giving an exaggerated sigh, she crosses her arms over her chest. “History majors.”

Bellamy arches a brow at her, “Hey, don’t get me started on you. What was that running joke about fine arts majors again?”

“Shut up.” Clarke grumbles, jostling his arm companionably, suppressing the shiver that runs down his spine at the heat emanating off his body. “We could-- we could be friends, I guess? We can be friendly. Platonic.”

He swallows, throat bobbing as he peers down at her from between his lashes. “Well, friends shouldn’t be standing _that_ close to one another.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She gasps, clutching at the front of her shirt, “Is there a list of sanctioned activities that only friends can engage in? Have I been missing out my entire life?”

The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. “Yeah, I have the list laminated and stuck on my fridge.”

His breath is hot against her cheek, the brush of his fingers against her knuckles only serving to make her jump. Resisting the urge to lurch forward, she asks instead, “And you’re not going to share with the class?”

“I was getting to it.” He teases, sidestepping past her fluidly and leaving a good foot of space between them, his gaze roving past her and onto the books stacked haphazardly onto the counter. “How do you feel about studying?”

“Studying,” she echoes, trying to keep the note of disbelief out of her voice. “As in, now? Together?”

Bellamy shrugs, nonchalant. “Well, you did ask about a list of sanctioned activities that friends can engage in.”

“I thought you meant like, catching a movie or something.”

“Spending a few hours with you in a confined, dark space?” He gives a rueful shake of his head, cocking his brow over at her. “That sounds like a recipe for trouble, Clarke.”

“Well, maybe one of us has some degree of self-control.” She mutters under her breath, glowering at him when he nudges a textbook towards her, pushing at it with enough force to send it skittering over the counter and towards her.

“I’ll freely admit that I don’t have any when it comes to you.” Bellamy goes, blase, and the admission itself is enough to set her cheeks aflame, her pulse thumping solidly against her ribcage.

Letting loose a shaky exhale, she flops down onto the chair, flipping idly through the pages all whilst avoiding his gaze. “Fine. Let’s study.”

Clarke senses, rather than sees his smile. “Okay.” He continues, settling down next to her and uncapping his highlighter with a flourish. “You need anything before we start?”

It takes her a while to register what he’s saying, already distracted by his proximity, the sharp, clean scent of his clothes detergent and the brush of his arm against hers, but she forces herself to focus anyway, tightening her grip on the spine of the book.

“This is good.” She says instead, wondering if he’s as aware of the points of contact between them as she is, if his skin felt electrified like hers did in the small amount of space they shared.

“Okay.” He tells her simply, and she can’t help but resent him (just a fraction) for how coolly he’s handling all of this, how he managed to take it into his stride just like that while she felt her breath hitch at every graze of his skin against hers.

His knee bumps up against hers under the table, light. She closes her eyes, waits for him to pull away, for him to leave feeling her cold and stupid and _wanting_.

(He stays exactly where he is the whole time they’re studying. Not that she was checking, or anything.)

**Author's Note:**

> Or you can come yell at me at my [tumblr](http://prosciuttoe.tumblr.com/).


End file.
